


So Many Years

by beejohnlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4030492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beejohnlocked/pseuds/beejohnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John confess their love and have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Many Years

The first time John kisses Sherlock is like any other day. The same exhilarating cases, the same brilliant deductions, the same conclusion at Baker Street. Both laughing, both panting, both bursting with adrenaline. They lock eyes. This happens every time. Sherlock looks at John, at his elevated respiration and dilated pupils, waiting for him to clear his throat and look down and step away. This is John's routine, and as much as he wishes things could be different, Sherlock is accustomed to the status quo by now. But John doesn't clear his throat. John doesn't look down. He doesn't step away. Instead, John closes the distance between him and Sherlock so quickly, Sherlock has no time to react. Suddenly, there are strong hands in his hair, a small, capable body against his, and a mouth...oh God, THAT MOUTH, pressing relentlessly against his own. 

Sherlock lets out a gasp, having no idea how to respond. John's mouth is warm, firm, and confident. Sherlock's is uncertain; hesitant. At the same time, he allows himself this instance to become soft and pliant, allows John to control the kiss. He senses John's desperation to do so. John needs this. Perhaps more than Sherlock does. For the moment, Sherlock shuts off his cognitive tendencies and allows himself to simply feel.

John's hands trail down Sherlock's body, lightly tracing his throat, chest, armpits, waist. His hands come to rest on Sherlock's hips, and John grinds his pelvis against Sherlock's. 

 

It feels unfamiliar. It feels GOOD. A soft, helpless moan issues from Sherlock. He feels his face flush in embarrassment as John breaks the kiss and looks at him. Sherlock averts his eyes, feeling an odd sense of shame, unused to his body's reaction overriding his brain. 

Then he sees John's pupils unfurl, almost eclipsing the deep blue of his irises. Then John makes a growling noise deep in his throat. Then John trips him onto the floor of their flat, and Sherlock is lost. 

John's mouth and hands are absolutely EVERYWHERE. He mouths and nips at Sherlock's lips, ear, throat, and nipples. His hands trace Sherlock's inner thighs, his tensed abdomen, run behind to the crease of his arse. 

Sherlock, for his part, is thoroughly overwhelmed. Unable to do more than cling to john like a limpet and gasp. 

"Please-!" Sherlock cries out, not knowing exactly what he needs. But John, bless him, seems to understand. Leaning his weight onto one elbow, he uses his other hand to undo Sherlock's button and flies, releasing Sherlock's erection from the confines of his trousers. Sherlock looks down at his straining cock tenting his pants. It's obscene. 

"Oh, God. Look at you," John's voice is hoarse with need. "Why haven't we done this before? Sherlock..." John cuts himself off with a groan and dips down to mouth at Sherlock's cock through his thin pants.

Sherlock cries out, fisting his hands into John's hair. "It was...inevitable," he chokes out. "Had to...happen...unnnnngg..."

"Oh..you like this, do you?" John's voice takes on a teasing quality.   
"Can I suck you, Sherlock?"

The words alone are nearly enough to make Sherlock come in his pants. It's not possible to survive John's mouth on him in such an intimate way, but Sherlock nods regardless. 

The grin that splits John's face is like dawn breaking on the horizon. Sherlock smiles back reflexively. 

John turns his attention to Sherlock's aching prick, still obscured by his thin cotton boxers. John runs teasing fingers along the seam of his pants, lightly dipping them under, but only just. It's an exercise in frustration and Sherlock is having none of it.

"John! Hurry up!" John looks to him with a raised eyebrow. Sherlock moans. "Please...touch me...please...I-I need you," his eyes are closed against the wave of emotion that hits him. He can't possibly look at John now. He feels humiliated. Exposed. Manipulated into admitting how much this attention from John means to him. 

Eyes shut tight, Sherlock feels John gently stroke his hips and thighs. His hands hook under the waistband of Sherlock's pants and he peels them down steadily. Sherlock cannot bring himself to watch. 

"Sherlock."

No. He can't. Too much.

"Sherlock, please. Look at me."

He forces himself to open his eyes. John is hovering above him, not touching. His eyes are almost completely black. They are filled with arousal, yes, but also something else...something deeper. 

"John?"

Suddenly, john chuckles and lowers his mouth to Sherlock's jaw. He pecks his lips along it.   
"Sherlock, don't you even know? Don't you know how long I've wanted this? How long I've wanted you?"

John sits back onto his heels, his hands dropping to his sides. His expression deflates in an instant. He looks almost...heartbroken. 

"Sherlock," John starts, sounding careful, sounding as though Sherlock is a wild rabbit that may bound away in fear at any moment, "Don't you know how long I've been in love with you?"

Sherlock's head snaps up. Hearing John use the word "love" is like being injected with a particularly potent drug. There is a shift in him, a shock, followed by lifting from within. Sherlock is suddenly floating above the sitting room at Baker Street. Still watching himself. Still watching John. Watching John as his hands drift lower, fingertips digging into his waist and tracing the minuscule curve of his hips. Watching the concern written on John's face even while he gently strokes Sherlock's flanks. 

"You-you love me?" Sherlock feels an almost irrepressible urge to squeeze his eyes shut in embarrassment. 

John looks nearly shocked. "Sweetheart...of course I love you. I have always loved you." John gives a bit of a chuckle, then continues "Since that day at Bart's I gather." 

Sherlock cannot believe what he's hearing, but before he can respond, John cuts him off.  
"I know it is a little crazy. Until I met you, the idea of love at first sight was ridiculous. Laughable. But when I met you, you dismantled every idea I had. You took my little crappy life and made it so much more than I ever could've hoped for. You made me...me."

Now John looks embarrassed. His hands are still around Sherlock's hips, but his face registers worry that he may have revealed too much. Sherlock can't take it anymore; he lays his hands over John's chest.

"You showed me life was actually worth living, John," he hesitates, gathering his courage. "Before you, I had an active death wish. I thought dying in a blaze of genius glory was preferable to the status quo I had been living."

John's eyes are wide and shining, and Sherlock takes that as enough encouragement to continue. "You may not have known love at first sight existed, but I didn't know that love existed at all. You changed that. You transformed me."

John's eyes close delicately, a soft wrinkle visible between his brows. Sherlock finishes, "I love you."

John makes a sound, something between joy and anguish, and lowers himself onto Sherlock. The melody of his lips combine with the harmony of his tongue. John is music. Soon enough, John turns his attention to Sherlock's throat and collarbone. 

Sherlock grunts and jerks his hips helplessly, and feels John's resulting moan throughout his entire body. John reaches down to unfasten his pants, freeing his leaking erection, pressing like steel against Sherlock's equally hard cock. 

"I can't wait," John says in apology, gripping both his and Sherlock's cocks together in his hand and frotting frantically. Sherlock wraps both his arms and legs around a relentless John, feeling the heat in his belly begin to take over.

"John-!"

"Yes!" John's response is hoarse, needy, and that alone catapults Sherlock into oblivion.

Sherlock's cries are loud and uncontrolled, thrusting against John while his prick releases what seem like endless ropes of come all over his chest, stomach, and pubes. John follows him directly after, his whole body tensing before he shouts Sherlock's name in his release. 

As Sherlock comes down, he feels John going boneless on top of him, making a soft "hmm" of contentment. They're both sweaty and full of spunk, and they should really get cleaned up. But when John rolls off of Sherlock onto his side, facing him, and pulls Sherlock into his body, there's nothing he can really do to protest.

Instead, he relishes the feel of John's thigh draped over him and John's mouth centimeters from his own. After so many years of waiting for each other, a bit of cleanup seems a low priority.

They sleep that way until morning.


End file.
